


Doktor, Please

by Xela



Series: Little Black Dress [4]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, M/M, Master/Slave, Medical Kink, Mirror Universe, Restraints, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xela/pseuds/Xela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pavel gets sent to Bones to make his bad day much, much better</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doktor, Please

Bones is in a snit. It's making him unbearable and Kirk is seriously considering killing him. Which would make life infinitely more annoying down the line—his next CMO wouldn't be near as loyal or as fun—which is the only reason he's currently entertaining other solutions. He's contemplating sending Uhura and her toys down to him when his eyes fall on Pavel, kneeling at his feet.

The crew's reactions to the Captain's new toy have been a mixture of jealousy, desire, and strategizing. His senior staff has a far more vested interested, each of them wondering when they'll be invited to play again. Kirk lazily wraps a blond curl around his finger. He's kept Pavel all to himself since letting his command crew get a taste. He's put the boy through his paces, kept him on a short leash and flaunted him in front of everyone. Kirk particularly loves the way Uhura watches Pavel, can see the spin of the whips in her head.

Perhaps it's time to put Pavel to good use.

“Sulu, plot in a course for the nearest starbase. Spock, I want you to put the security team to a surprise inspection. Anyone unprepared gets a day in the agony booth. Pavel.” Kirk can feel everyone's attention settle on them. They're all wondering who has pleased the Captain today, who might get to spend an evening or an hour with his slave. “Go ask Dr. McCoy what you can do to make his life more pleasurable.”

Pavel nuzzles Kirk's knee in acknowledgment before silently exiting the bridge. Kirk grins and fingers his agonizer. Perhaps he'll take a tour of engineering and play “Who Screams Loudest” with Scotty.

****

Pavel has been in the infirmary for three minutes. In that time, Dr. McCoy has sent two techs to the agonizer booth and nearly decapitated Nurse Chapel, who nearly decapitated him in response and sent McCoy storming into his office.

Pavel peels himself from the wall he'd been blending in with. Nurse Chapel pauses in straightening the sick bay when she catches sight of him. She's a sharp woman with keen eyes and a gift for healing rivaled only by her gift for pain. She purses her lips at him and Pavel holds very still, waiting for her to pass judgment. After a few moments she grins at him, all predator, and jerks her head towards McCoy's office. Pavel bows slightly and silently makes his way towards the CMO's sanctum. People have come away with scars for daring to enter uninvited. 

Pavel slips in the room and stands just inside the door, ducking his head so his hair covers his face. His Master hadn't allowed him to cut it since he came here, preferring to fist his hands in the long locks or wrap a curl around his finger.

“You better have a damn good...” McCoy's growl trails off and Pavel risks a coy glance up, through his bangs, briefly meeting the doctor's eyes before skittering back to the floor. He lets the silence stretch between them; McCoy likes to come to his own conclusions, and he'll let Pavel know what he wants.

Pavel waits through the click of keys, a message sent to the bridge. The console beeps with a response and McCoy huffs a laugh. He shifts in his chair, leaning towards Pavel, studying him.

“Ensign, you wanna tell me what you're doing in my Sick Bay?” McCoy asks, his voice a deep rumble. Pavel licks his lips and shifts his feet, as if he's a naughty school boy facing the pricipal. Or an Ensign facing his superior officer.

“Doktor,” Pavel starts softy, a hint of insecurity creeping into his voice. “I...there is a problem.” McCoy leans back and steeples his fingers, deeply amused.

“There are other people here. Go bother them.” Pavel blushes and bites his bottom lip.

“It is...personal problem. Priwat.” Pavel emphasizes his accent, noting the way McCoy's lips twitch every time he mispronounces a word.

“The kind of problem an up and coming Ensign wouldn't want in his medical file?” McCoy asks shrewdly. Pavel swallows and nods sharply, letting his face burn in embarrassment. “And what, pray tell, will I get out of keeping this 'priwate,' Ensign?” Pavel's head jerks up, eyes wide and shocked. He tries to think of something to say, anything, because certainly the doctor isn't suggesting something...untoward. McCoy watches him struggle with undisguised glee.

Finally, Pavel ducks his head again and says, “Whatewer you want.”

McCoy considers this for a long moment, then nods decisively. “Exam Room 4. Take your clothes off and put on a gown. I don't want to waste more of my time than I already have to,” he warns. Pavel nods enthusiastically and practically falls over himself to get to the exam room, a litany of thank you's and yessirs falling over his shoulder.

McCoy gives the boy a minute to get situated (and so he can get his libido under control), before strolling leisurely after the boy. Chapel's sitting on one of the exam tables watching his office. She smirks at him as he exits, and he gives her a lazy smile back.

Pavel starts when the doctor enters the room, then blushes and tries to tuck the skimpy gown around his body.

“On the chair,” McCoy commands, no-nonsense and snapping on a pair of exam gloves. They sound loud in the silence. He makes absent notes in a chart as the ensign struggles to get situated on the uncomfortable bed without the gown opening or falling off. It's highly amusing, and McCoy appreciates the little flashes of skin he gets, the unintentional peep show.

“Today!” he barks when he's had enough. Chekov quickly scrambles onto the uncomfortable exam chair, the gown pooling around him and leaving his entire back exposed to the cold metal and plastic of the chair. “Slide to the edge.” Chekov complies, but not fast enough. McCoy grabs one of his skinny ankles and roughly fixes it in one of the hanging cuffs. He makes short work of the second ankle while Chekov is still processing this newest development. Chekov makes a low sound of negation, trying to jerk his feet away. McCoy stands firm and glares.

“Do you have something to say, Ensign?” McCoy asks cooly. He drags a tray of instruments over, acutely aware of Chekov's eyes fixed on it. His tools gleam in the light of the room.

“I...” Chekov flushes under McCoy's gaze. McCoy raises an eyebrow in challenge and command. “Is this...necessary?”

“Ensign Chekov,” McCoy says, his voice the lowest bass he has, deadly in its quiet, “when you are the one doing me a favor, you may decide what is _necessary.”_ He pulls at the restraints and hikes the boy's legs up to an uncomfortable angle.

“U-understood, Sir!” Chekov squeaks, shrinking against the bed.

“Good. But just for that...” McCoy straps Chekov's wrists to the bed, slightly away from his body. Chekov tests the bonds, eyes wide and a little scared. He tentatively looks at McCoy and isn't at all mollified by what he sees. “Let's start, shall we?”

McCoy starts his examination at Chekov's head, checking for Terillian lice and any sign of root rot. He moves down to Chekov's eyes, pulling them down, making sure the tear ducts work by pulling sharply on his hair. He check Chekov's ears and teeth and mouth, thrusting two gloved fingers between Chekov's lips.

“Suck,” he orders. Chekov gives him a wide-eyed look as if to ask what the medical nature of such a request could be. McCoy doesn't deign to answer him, just pushes his fingers deeper in warning. Chekov's eyes water and he begins to suck enthusiastically, the suction almost painful through the gloves.

“Good,” McCoy says, a little breathless. His pants are becoming restrictive and uncomfortable. Chekov lets off with an audible pop. He tests the tension of Chekov's skin, walking his fingers down over the kid's collar bones—McCoy can feel an old, healed break through the gloves—down his skinny chest, ripping the thin paper gown down the middle as he goes. His thumbs circle Chekov's nipples and he watches for the reaction. The dusky buds tighten and Chekov arches up a little, eyes glazing.

“Wh-what? This is not—”

“While I have you, Ensign, I'm going to give you a full check up. Make sure everything works. This includes autonomic responses to all kinds of stimuli.” He punctuates his point by twisting Chekov's nipple cruelly, making the boy yelp and flinch. “For example, you seem to be having an unusual reaction to pain.” Chekov whimpers when the doctor wraps his hand around the boy's erection, paper crinkling loudly. The paper over the tip turns dark with wetness.

“Is this what you were worried about, Ensign?” McCoy asks.

“N-no sir,” Chekov says. His eyes are pressed tightly shut and his hands are fisted by his side, muscles straining against his restraints.

“I see.” McCoy reaches underneath the gown and fondles Chekov's balls, rolling them gently through his fingers. Chekov whimpers and thrashes against the bed. “Most disturbing.” Chekov cries out when McCoy pulls away, leaving him without any stimulation.

“D-doktor,” he pleads, accent thicker now that he's so compromised and distracted. “Please.”

“You'll have to be more specific, Ensign,” McCoy chides. He reaches for his tray of instruments. There's so much he could do. But first... “You look a little warm. Let me help you with that.” He rips the gown off the rest of the way, then tears the arm holes so that both halves flutter to the ground. Chekov flushes in embarrassment and shame.

McCoy critically examines Chekov, poking and prodding at him, muttering under his breath. He treats the boy like a prized stallion, touching, testing, evaluating. With every prod Chekov reddens further, even as his cock gets harder, curving up to rest against his stomach. McCoy enjoys this power, being able to do whatever he wants while Chekov takes it and enjoys it in spite of himself.

“Only one thing left to check,” McCoy announces, picking up his speculum. Chekov watches with wide eyes as he grabs the medical lube, gaze flicking between one of the oldest human instruments in the medical profession and McCoy.

“Doktor, wh-what—”

“I've heard stories about you, Ensign Chekov,” McCoy interrupts conversationally. He tests the wheel, spreading the lips of the instrument. Chekov watches raptly. “Do you know what kind of stories they tell about you?” He rests his hand on Chekov's thigh.

“N-no.” McCoy delivers a quick slap to Chekov's thigh. “No sir!”

“That you've fucked half the ship. That you're an absolute slut for whatever you can get.” He presses a finger into Chekov and finds his prostate easily. “Cock, cunt, tentacles. Whatever you can find.” The kid actually keens when he adds a second finger. Without warning he pulls out and replaces his fingers with the cold slide of the speculum and beings to spread it, opening Chekov wide.

“Chyort voz'mi!” Chekov yells. He tenses against the restraints; the hanging ankle holsters spread his legs wider, which just gives McCoy more room to play.

“How does that feel?” McCoy asks, pushing the speculum farther apart. Chekov clenches his fists and whimpers. McCoy slaps him on the thigh again. “I asked you a question.” The boy's eyes are wet when he opens them, pleading and desperate.

“Doktor, please,” he begs, trembling.

“Please?” McCoy asks, and spreads the speculum a little further. Chekov sucks in a breath. “Please what? Give me more?” He twists the screw another quarter inch.

“Anything,” Chekov pants. “Just...please!” McCoy suddenly can't think of anything but being buried in the kid's ass, fucking him into incoherence all strung up and tied down. He pulls the speculum out and fumbles his pants open, his cock surging to full hardness. He doesn't bother slicking up any more, just uses the lube already in the kid and plunges in as deep as he can go.

He fucks Chekov fast and merciless, the kid's legs hanging up around his shoulders, ass tilted up. He's tight and slick and warm. He pours all of his frustrations into fucking Chekov, bound and helpless. His fingers dig into Chekov's hips, smudge faint bruises into pale flesh. It's glorious, hearing him moan and curse in Russian, feeling every jerk and wince.

McCoy licks a trail up Chekov's neck to his ear, tugs at the lobe. Chekov tilts to one side, wanting more. “Clench,” McCoy orders roughly. Chekov does, his internal muscles clamping down on McCoy's cock. He comes with a grunt, the pressure too much. His hips jerk shallowly as pleasure races up his spine and sets his nerve endings alight.

He slouches down on Chekov, his legs feeling weak with his release. He can still feel Chekov's erection against him, pre-come smearing onto his shirt. After a moment, he pushes himself up and gives Chekov's cock a lazy, affectionate pull. The boy whimpers and tries to thrust into McCoy's hand.

“Now kid, none of that,” McCoy chides, voice pleasure-loose. “Your Master has plans for you tonight.” Chekov moans and bites his lip, obviously trying to compose himself. McCoy laughs and tucks himself in his pants. Chekov looks like a well-used pleasure slave, debauched and needy.

“Just to keep you from temptation, I'm going to leave you like this. Nurse Chapel will be by in a while to let you go.” McCoy settles back in his desk, paperwork scattered in front of him. He looks up and smirks. His office door, when left open, looks right into Exam 4.


End file.
